View source for Asummit, Aby'ssa and Wings

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== Log Info ==
*Title: Asummit, Aby'ssa and Wings
*Emitter: Cryosanthia
*Characters: Cryosanthia, Cesran, Aryia, Stjepan, Shalethiste
*Place: A14: Society for Progressive Arcanists
*Time: Friday, April 09, 2021, 10:14 PM
*Summary: Cryosanthia is lingering around the Progressive Arcanists' courtyard while Little Fang plays. She is joined by Cesran, and a strange, heavily scarred Mul'niessa who seems unable to speak. They discuss, and write various things. Largely Cesran's experiences with Asummit and demon hunting. Shalethise and Stjepan arrive, conversation continues, discussing the Mul'niessa homeland and escaping it, and eventually Cryo's wings. She reveals they haven't improved any and she's been hiding them with disguise spells. Finally the group offer lodging assistance to Aryia, and some recomendations, then split up.</div>

-=--=--=--=--=--=<* A14: Society for Progressive Arcanists *>=--=--=--=--=--=-

The central courtyard of the Arcane Society is a large and sprawling affair within the heart of the city. Soaring marble pillars reach upward to the sky, four sets of three, evenly spaced apart as the massive columns form a rough circle, each trio of pillars warding a particular direction. Carved into the smooth stone floor within the center of the atrium is a massive circle within the ceiling itself, which opens always to the stars, in honor of Eluna, the Goddess of Light Magic. Taara, the Goddess of the Dark, is given no such honors.

The central courtyard radiates outwards into paths, leading through the exotic gardens of the Society. One extends to the Library, another to the College of Magic. Another path leads off to a small, rather plain looking building between the two colleges, most likely the dormitory for the students, and yet another for the famous Cafeteria. Numerous magi can be seen walking back and forth most hours of the day and night here, with familiars or other odder creatures roaming about, most of them in the latest styles, as dictated by Madame Gelfure, the a more social head than the Society has had in most of its history. Myriad scents and aromas can also be sensed, some delightful, others repugnant, others quite colorful as apprentices and magi alike go about their experiments. Arguments are not unheard of, and even the most "dignified" of magi might be seen from time to time, in a pique of anger, waving an agitated hand to teleport the disagreeable person to the top of the nearest tower.
              
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<pre>-=-=-=-=  At a glance around A14: Society for Progressive Arcanists  =-=-=-=-=
Cryosanthia  6'9"     291 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman.
Cesran       6'1"     185 Lb     Human             Male      A tall dark-skinned man 
Aryia        4'8"     110 Lb     Shadow Elf        Woman     A heavily scarred mul with a lost look about her.
Stjepan      8'0"     534 Lb     Giantborn         Male      Big, blonde jotun.
Shalethiste  4'6"     96 Lb      Shadow Elf        Female    A copper maned elf maiden, hued in the night sky.
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It's a pleasant afternoon, with a cool breeze blows from the west. Dark clouds are in the sky, obscuring sunlight, so there are few shadows. It's bright enought without being gloomy.

Out in the courtyard, a whitescaled Sith'Makar woman is waiting. She wears some loose clothing, slacks and a long tunic. Nearby is a carnation scaled lizard youngling, removing things from a haversack. Primarily, a crossbow which seems oddly right-sized for the child. Possibly a hand crossbow before it became a toy.

Cesran comes out of one of the buildings and he has a few scrolls tucked under one of his arms and his staff in the other. He hmms as he looks up at the weather as he makes his way off to one side. He spots Cryosanthaia and the youngling, "Peace upon your nests." He says in greetings as he takes off his scroll container and starts to open it up so he can put the scrolls under his arm away before it starts to rain.
She wasn't sure how she ended up here, a radiant courtyard that made her feel far out of place. At least this time the sun wasn't too bright, and a scarred mul wandered their way deeper into the yard. They stopped at the sight of the trio, her tilting her head one way and another before waffling about how to approach them.
>Thock!<

A small foam bolt launchs from the hand crossbow, and the pink lizard calls happily, "Ay-ay!"

"Aya? Ah, no. Little Fang, that's not Tia Aya. My apologies miss. She thought you were a friend" The whitescale says, suddenly distracted by child wrangling needs. She crouches awkwardly, putting a hand on the youngling's shoulder and hisses something.

"Sorrrrss." The little one says.

The whitescale nods, stands up again, looks over at the mage then glances up at the sky, "You think it will rain? Peace on your Nest, Cesran."

The thawp of the toy bolt makes the woman twitch, a hand snapping out to catch the foam bolt from the air. The mul examines it for a moment before relaxing and shaking her head. They step forward, kneeling and offering the ammunition back to the hatchling. She waves a hand off, dismissing the appology as if to say 'It's fine.'

Cesran chuckles a little bit as he's glad that the small foam bolt didn't go in his direction. He nods politely to the target of the bolt, "Hello." He finishes packing away the scrolls he had, "It looks like it might, which is a shame as I was hoping to take my carpet out for some flying to clear my head. I've been doing more research into demons so we'll be ready for them."

Aryia gives a small wave to Cesran while another hand fishes around for a book in her side bag as the two converse.

The whitescale nods to the shadow elf, examining her scars and her eyes for a long moment, then turns back to Cesran, "Ah. Well, this one could use some updating regarding demons. I was also interested in Asummit, I've heard you mention... it a few times but have no idea what you're talking about. Is it also somehow relevant to the ley-lines and the Animus Shards?"

Cesran nods, "Yes there is a good chance that because these cysts are demon related it could be the latest plot of Asummit. It could just be a distraction from his real purpose or a small part of an overall larger plan. Unfortunately using the ley-lines to track down the Animus shards is a dead end. The magic just doesn't work like that. I'm still hoping to get a chance to study one of the shards up close, but we'll see how that goes. Right now though I'm trying to focus on the cysts in the ley lines, they can't just be left to fester."

Aryia shifts uncomfortably under the sith-makar's gaze, one she doesn't meet as she looks to the book in her hands. The shadow elf flips through a few pages, looking for a blank spot. Eventually she spots her bookmark, a scrap piece of paper. She shows it to the group. Written in Tradespeak, it says in a faded scrawl. 
 
"I am Aryia." 
 
She writes some into her book and turns it back around for the two. 
 
"I don't kno what thees is abot. What is going on?"

Aryia briskly fills in more. 
 
"I get hre thre days ago." She frowns, looking off to the side.

The pink youngling sets up a trap of some sort, starting with some spider-silk threads, which she anchors into the ground at one end using a small pin. The small crossbow it set on different peg, and seems capable of swiveling. What follows is more staking of threads, a second one beside the first which loops through the lanyard ring on the crossbow and around the trigger.

The whitescale meanwhile, listens intently. She seems oddly relieved, straighting up and swishing her tail when she hears that the leylines can't be used to track the shards. Still, she says, "Pity. Good to know though." A slight hesitation, "This one will let you know if there's an opportunity to do so. If a Shard turns up. I suppose I should start at the beginning. What is Asummit? A person, a demon? A kingdom? What... was, is, the plot?"

When she is shown the page by Aryia, the lizard woman's attention focuses there. "Peace on your Nest, Aryia. This one is Cryosanthia. Cryo for short and in emergencies, which is more often lately. Magus Cesran has discovered blots on the Leylines, which... we don't know what they are. He's also a great adventurer that hasn't been in Alexandria for some time. He's got a wonderful dragon staff too. It's been... I've been in Alexandria for a year and a little more, as Alexandria measures it. So, we're trying to catch each other up."

Aryia bobs her head along, vaguely understanding as an eye is kept on the youngling.

Cesran switches seamlessly to Sildanyari, "Would it be easier for you if we spoke in Sildanyari." He looks over to Cryosanthia to see if she understand Sildanyari. He asks as he wants to be inclusive in this converstation. "Asumit is a person, he's called a devil summoner, although some think that he aspires to be a demon god. He's one of the driving forces behind the war between the Dran and Rune, along with Arendt. He known for his mercilessness, vindictiveness, cruelty, and his love of forcing ugly choices on adventurers, if only to see them squirm at the choices they are being forced to make." He pauses to see if all can understand him or if he needs to repeat himself. <sildanyari>

The pink youngling continues to set up a radial web around the crossbow, setting out strands surrounding her and her mother. She looks up at Aryia and grins, showing lots of tiny, sharp teeth, wags her tail and hisses in what might be a friendly way before returning to her project.

"Yes, this one understands." Cryosanthia says, pronouncing the words perfectly, without hint of the usual Sith'makar sibilations. Her accent is even better than usual, sounding strangely archaic and even Fae. "This sounds unpleasantly familiar." <sildanyari>

Aryia follows along just as easily as the spoken tongue switches, though Aryia does not seem well versed in this topic. She frowns at the ideas mentioned, her attention going back to her book once more. She hesitantly writes. 
 
"I undrstand just fine. I don't kno how to right that." She scribbles down a bit more, flashing the page towards Cryosanthia. 
 
"Peas on yor nest."

Cesran nods as he switches back to tradespeak, "Yes he's had his hands in just about everything at least since before my time away from the city. Usually if there is some connection to the outer planes of Hell or the Abyss Asumit has something to do with it." He looks at the book as it's flashed, "What are you trying to write perhaps we can help?" He asks curiously.

"Thank you. It is both a greeting and a departure, and a general wish for tranquility and stability in one's life. As the People sleep in nests." Cryo says, slipping into a mini-language lecture. She quickly adds, "In rooms inside buildings. We have roofs. It is a bed, not the whole structure. Ahhh... and this one can take notes if that will aid you, but suspects... you do not speak? This one has not learned hand-sign yet."

Another glance towards Cesran, switching to trade, following him, "ah... so were you able to interfere with his plans. Do you know what sorts of pacts he made with the demons, which types he favours?"

Little Fang meanwhile, stakes out another thread.

Aryia sinks in a bit, gesticulating in the air with one hand, more or less a verbal 'uhhhh' before pointing at the white scaled sith-makar's observation, then pointing to a distinctly gnarly yet faded scar at the front of her throat. She resumes writing in her barely legible scrawl. 
 
"I not knw that hand sygn. I hear abowt it but never seen." 
 
She makes a tutting sound, chewing on the pen she was writing with as she tried to think of how to word something. 
 
"All of ths sounds vry bad." She sighs.

Cesran ahs as he's putting the pieces together, "Well if you wish to learn handsigns it can be quiet easy to pick up, but then again I've always had an affinity for picking up languages, although the spells I have upon myself do sort of make it redundant." He shakes his head to answer Cryosantha's question. "In directly. I've never had the chance to face off against Asumit directly myself, but he isn't really the type to stick around and try to slug it out with adventurers. He'd rather run away and live to cause trouble another day. I don't know specifically, but it's all kinds of devils and demons that he is able to summon at least from what I've been able to research about him. Reports from others." He nods, "Yes it is very bad."

Cryo touches her knuckles to her chin, then slides them back along her long jaw and down the front of her throat. She ends up gripping the small bag that hangs around her neck, squeezing it. She says somewhat formally, "This one expresses sympathy for your injuries. Those appear very painful. I'm sorry."

She checks on her pink youngling, and the trap in progress. It appears to be developing.

The whitescale's attention returns to the other two and the conversation. Her head wobbles from side to side, "It is, adventurers are rarely full of good news. This one reads the reports filed with the guild, does some library curation. So many reports."

Her eye-ridge scales wrinkle, "Yes. They do tend to run away." Clearly a sore spot for her. A box she never managed to open, "This one is looking into a solution to that, but the enchant is tricky. So, essentially all sorts of demons? Cold Iron is usually best, yes, and Holy weapons, any thing else that you have found effective?"

Cesran nods, "Sonic based attacks as they seem to have varying degrees of resistances and immunities from the elements, but those spells are few and far between. Honestly it's best to have at least 1 paladin with you when facing off against demons." He punches his fist against his open palm, "That diving smite does a number on them." He chuckles and nods, "Yes there are all sorts of planar binds to prevent teleporting away, but even then Asumit might not even be there. He sets plans into motion and then reaps the benefits and if a plan goes awry he's not there for any of the blowback."

Aryia's features pull downwards some as attention is brought to it, feeling as if the clouds would open overhead on her. The shadow elf shrugs, lost in her head for a bit. 
 
She shakes her head, returning to the conversation. A smarting gulp is swallowed as she writes more. There is a note off to the side that reads "Cold iron? Holey wepeons?" 
 
She's hesitatnt to show it, concern, confusion, and a bit of creeping fear laden in her features. But she does in the end. 
 
"I am out of my debpth. I own lee know of some of things you r talking about becaus of Charn. But what is some one like me suposed to do in all of ths?"

"A Cold Iron dagger is very affordable even when starting out." Cryo says, flipping her right hand through a graceful, arcane gesture. A dagger appears in her grip, one that resembles a long, undulating icicle, in a grey metal that has an unlikely shimmer to its flat surface. She holds it handle-first for Aryia to examine. "Mine is a little nicer. It was meant for a special purpose."

"Befriending a paladin also seems to be the advice. This one knows a few... only one well. Things are... well best not discussed." The whitescale sounds hesitant, attempting to quickly get back on topic. "So, behind the scenes playwright then. If Asummit is involved with the Cysts, then, siphoning off magic energy, might be what they're about?"

She ends up clicking her thumb claws together, glances at her youngling. "Getting out to see what's going on would be best... yes... This one apologizes Ayria, this one doesn't know. I tend to get the explanation after I go on the journey."

"I don't deal much with weapons besides enchanting them on occasion. My magic has always been enough to see me through." Cesran says as he looks at the dagger, "That is a nice dagger though." He nods, "Yes very much behind the scenes. It certainly might be that he's trying to use these cysts to do something to the Sea of Mana. I really won't know until we get out to the site and investigate." He turns to Ayria, "Well depending on what your talents are you might want to join the Adventurer's guild. They deal with a lot of local and not so local problems. It's a good place to earn coin and experience so that you can hopefully one day help out with the larger problems."

Aryia flinches as the knife is procured, a half step back taken. After a moment to steel herself, she reaches out of the brown cloak with a scarred hand to gingerly take the weapon. Holding it weakly and away from herself, and the others. Though, she does inspect. And it is handed back to the sith-makar handle first. 
 
She taps the tips of her fingers together, looking at the space between Cesran and Cryosanthia. After a moment, she writes more. 
 
"I can do lot of thins. But no thing like you two talk abot. I am-" she scratches out the word- "was a saylor. I'm stil new to this city, so I ned help wit where this Adventurur's gyld is. I-" 
 
She rolls her head back and sighs. Flips to a new page. And embrassingly writes: 
 
"I cant read the sygns on buldings."

"Fissssh," The little pink lizard says, calling attention to a three-quarter circle of webs around the crossbow, which is loaded again with a foam dart, and protecting the whitescale's back. Cryosanthia looks it over, hissing, "Very effective. That should stop Tia Aya if she appears."

Little Fang is scooped up, resting on one hip and held to her side.

"Oh, may this one borrow your book? Lily I'm going to have to put you down again." Cryo says, placing her youngling in front of her. Her dagger is also retrieved and she leans over to drop it in her haversack. "This one can make a map.

Aryia holds the book to her chest for a moment, inspecting the tall sith-makar for any signs of subterfuge before -very reluctantly- handing the book over. Cryosanthia can see that the pages are dense and filled with many different scrawlings, practicing how to write different words and letters as well as past conversations with someone named 'Ray vans tonge'. She shifts on her feet uncomforably, voice out of her hands for now.

Cesran smiles, "Well you are in luck as the Adventurer's Guild is near the docks. If you'd like we could show you. It's not too far from here." He offers. "Along the way we could point out various spots along the city that you might find interesting."

Stjepan comes into the courtyard, swathed in a great (or at least appropriately-sized) cloak. He picks his way in carefully, dodging the smaller people easily.

Aryia wrings her hands, thinking the offer over while making a low tutting sound. There's a subtle nod before the newcomer arrives. The shadow elf cranes her head up, blinks, and slides a step back.

Cryosanthia carefully takes Aryia's book. She notes her hesitation, and says, "Don't worry, this one is a Book-wrym." Finding a clear spot on the current page, she starts drawing a map. "In case we don't show you. We are here, this is the north Tornmawr bridge, through the lower Market Gardens, then a bit further. This is what the sign looks like."

The Sith'makar is remarkably skilled at mapmaking, and the sign is beautifully rendered with some cross-hatching shading. She hands book and pen back to Aryia.

"Peace on your nest, Stjepan, this is Aryia, and you know Cesran and Lily." Cryo says, as the Jotun draws near.

Stjepan looks up, drawn out of his reverie. "Cryosanthia," he pauses. "Where are your wings?" He takes a moment, nods to Cesran and Lily, then waves to Aryia. "Well met." He looks back at Cryo, though.

Cesran nods to Stjepan, "Hello Stjepan, what brings you here today?" He looks over the map that Cryosanthia drew, "Very nice map. If you get turned around don't be afraid to ask for directions. Most people would be willing to help."

"They're... still there..." Cryo says, straightening up and sounding a little hesitant. She glances at Cesran, Stjepan, then Aryia. Her gaze lingers on the Mul'niessa the most, "Do not be alarmed."

She reaches up and seems to take hold of the scales around her eyes and snout, then lifts them completely off. There's a shimmering above and behind her, mostly above. What appear to be two scaled limbs, somewhat like arms, but smoother, and sixteen feet long pop into sight. They're folded back on themselves and bound up with a cape. "So... I'm disguised as myself, without the wings. Which is great until I go indoors. They're... um... yeah. Well I'm better balanced now."

Aryia takes the book back, immense relief apparent in her frame. She listens to the instructions attentively, nodding along as she fishes out a cracked compass from her pocket and orients hereslf. After a moment, she gives a thumbs up, and a small smile as best she could. 
 
She flips back a page before pointing to a line and showing it to Stjepan. "Peas on your nest," it reads in sloppy Tradespeak. 
 
Back to a current page, careful not to crease the map made for her. "I wil try if I do. I am not best wit speaking wit peple." Aryia presents that Cesran. 
 
Her head tilts to the side, milky eyes glancing back to the white scaled woman before-. Her eyes widen, a gnarled sound of suprise coming out of her mouth as she staggers back a few more steps before stopping and coughing into her elbow.

After an... unspecified amount of time within the library, a Mul'niessa emerges with a hand massaging her eyes as a hand settles on a column flanking the entrance.

Perhaps Eluna's blessings will work on eyestrain, but...

Shalethiste, venturing out into the central courtyard, where, in the distance, she spies a small knot of people congealed over yonder whilst others scurry tither and yon in pursuit of their individual goals, she ventures that way, considering the particulars as she gets a better angle on them.

Cesran watches the demonstration of Cryosanthia's wings, "Very impressive. I've heard about some Sith'makar's who are able to draw out their draconic heritage, as well as other sorcerers who's magic comes from dragonic bloodlines." He nods, "I can understand. It took me a while to find my way around the city when I first came here from the Jade Islands."

Stjepan nods slowly. "You're moving better. That's good, too. Got your feet under you" He glances up at Cesran. "Just looking in on some books. Been doing it for a while." There's a moment, as he looks at Aryia, and snorts.

Aryia pouts slightly. Did she write it wrong again?

Cryo holds her wooden mask in her hand, shifting it from one to the other, nodding at Stjepan. It is a nice, carved object that is shaped for a reptilian head, with a few features on pegs that fit in various holes. She places it back on her snout, presses it to her eye-ridges. It vanishes along with her wings, leaving her standing there, seemingly normal, with any odd motions of her shoulders more understandable. "Yes, it's one of those things Cesran, this one is sure. I hope to have it resolved soon."

Little Fang meanwhile, has noticed Shalethiste and is watching her. She hasn't called out.

"It seems phoentically correct, Aryia. Spelling can be optional. And... sorry, about the wings. It's... a work in progress."

Cesran tilts his head as he is getting a message, "I'm sorry the tour will have to wait. I'm being called away. I was nice to meet you Aryia. Stjepan and Cryosanthia, it was good to see you again." He takes out his magic carpet and with a flourish spreads it out before he gets out. The carpet lifts up a bit and with a wave good bye Cesran flies on out.

Shalethiste sees a very familiar sith and so quickens her pace to see how she's doing in the wake of their previous encounter. Her eyes track the magic carpet ride for a couple heartbeats, then resumes her approach with a warm, "Greetings!"

Stjepan nods slowly, waving as Cesran goes away, then nods to Shale. "Greetings!" He nods towards Aryia, "Not pulling my leg? Alright."

Aryia watches a bit confused as the man simply flies away on a carpet. A sigh leeaves her, the shadow elf rubbing the bridge of her nose. Magic was always strange to her. She drops her gaze back to the group. And she goes stock still. Shalethiste would see a fellow Mul'neissa engaged with the group, though this one was put through the wringer for certain. Aryia steps behind Cryosanthia slightly and gives a meek wave.

"Silverguard!" Cryo calls out, waving at Shalethiste, keeping her tail low and her shoulders up, "Mind the perimeter defense." She gestures at a spider-webbing that leads to a small, loaded hand-crossbow.

Little Fang is standing behind her Sith'mom also, and looks at Aryia for a moment, then hisses. "Not Ay-ay?" <draconic>

"No, it's Silverguard Shalethiste." The whitescale responds.

This results in her pink youngling hissing for nearly half a minute as she attempts the name, "Ssshssssssurguard Sssshalessshhissss."

Cryo grins awkwardly. Shortening that would be bad, 'Ssshsss' has connotations, "Try... Gud, Lily. And they do that Aryia, the accomplished mages. This one can never tell if they're deliberately showing off or their powers come so naturally they forget others are unable. My mind still boggles to hear one casually say they're hopping off to another plane to check on something. As if transversing realities was as easy as going to the shops."

Shalethiste's smile grows a little awkard as she sees her kinfolk, especially one so gone over, shrink from her. She slowly lifts her hand, "I am Shalethiste, of the Silver Guard, I mean you no harm."

She stutter-stops her approaches, looking around her footing on the Sith's sudden warning and she laughs a little nervously, "Thank you, miss. How are you feeling, by the way?" She cants her head to the youngling and crouches down, "Shelly works, too. Hi!" She looks to the Jotun and, "Well met, sir!"

Stjepan nods to Cryo. "What is possible is different." He steps back, "Well met -- this time without something pressing." He glances between the mul, curiously.

Stepping out of her newfound cover and relaxing a touch, the scarred kinfolk waves again, this time with a bit more confidence. An open book is scribbled in, this time a note being taken down that Cryo could read as 'Shahlestheest' over her shoulder. She presents a piece of worn scrap paper to the fellow Mul, it having scrawled on there in Tradespeak: 
 
"I am Aryia." 
 
She writes a bit more, biting her lip as she struggles with a few words. The page is presented again. 
 
"I am soori. Mages confuse me. Did somethng hapen to you, Cr-" scribbles "Crhyo-" more scribbles before she gives up and just points at the sith-makar.

"Gussh Sshellss," the carnation-scale manages, placing her hands to lean on Cryo's tail, which also stops it moving.

"This one is improving, thank you. The shoulder aches remain. It has been a few days, so I suspect it is not time related. I'm considering... alternate approaches." She laughs suddenly, "Mikilos suggested a fireball. It is his favourite answer to everything."

"She's one of the Dreaming Dragon's Holy Warriors," The whitescale tells Aryia, "A Paladin. This one is not sure the name you'd be familiar with, in Alexandria they call the Dreaming Dragon, Eluna. And yes... something happened..."

The whitescale exhales slowly, considering how much to tell. It seems a little cooler around her as she squeezes her lips together. "This one was a pet, and my Mist..take... made alterations to my magic and it has had some unusual manifestations since. I'll get it under control eventually. It's... simply embarassing. Lily, stop that."

The pink kobold has her jaw wide open, and is gnawing on her tail.

Shalethiste brings a hand to her mouth to stifle a bit of a wry laugh, "Indeed, much more liesurely this time." She rises to her full height as the other Mul steps forward again and she smiles again, she glances down to accepts the note and, "It's nice to meet you Aryia." She considers the implications of the method, but accepts the message in good will. She considers Cryo's reply and sighs, "Were it in my means, I would help, but I'm glad to hear, at least, that you are more comfortable.... and delicious, it seems."

Stjepan pauses, and grins. "Did you roll in butter and oregano this morning, Cryosanthia?" He deadpans the question. "Or maybe just a change in the blood from whatever is changing you?"

Aryia hides her face behind her book as she silently giggles from the sight. There isn't a look of recognition from the names "Dreaming Dragons" or "Eluna". However, she takes the note back and sticks it back in her book, it clear that it is her main way of speaking with others. The mute mul scribbles down something on a page and hands it Cryo, a sheepish look on her visage. 
 
"Soori four asking," it reads.

"Lily doesn't like me talking about Her and gets rambunctuous." Cryo explains, looking down her tail and shaking it. The little pink lizard seems well attached, riding the wave with a gleeful sort of hissing noise. "I hope its not my blood! I've had enough things go for me."

She leans over, reaching towards Aryia's book again, "Here Aryia, this is how I write my name, and this is my Arcane mark." She needs a pen for the first demonstration, writing the first part of her name out in a graceful Sildanyari script, "Cryo," then the rest of it in similar letters, "Santhia". She hands the pen back and follows with a wave of her left hand, her fingers tracing. This time the scales on her arm sparkle, a strange cascade of light down to her hand. She draws a Dragon Eye, formed from the same letters as her name. She smiles and shakes her head, "It's fine, don't worry about it, it shall resolve in time."

"That's an interesting recipe." Shelly says to Stjepan, then, considers the others, especially as Aryia starts to pass notes. She crouches down to regard Lily, "Hello, Lily, you have very pretty scales." she croons gently.

Aryia is not one to hide her emotions well, and a look of self-frustration flashes across her face as she tries to read the name. Cryosanthia has been nice enough this far. As has most people here. Well, except one. Regardless, she writes her request down below the gracefully written name and hands it back. 
 
"I cant read Syldanyahri. Please right in Tradespeak." 
 
She does watch the fellow Mul, her having a questioning look on her face but can't seem to bring it up.

Stjepan grins down at Shelly - Shaelthiste, and shrugs expansively. "Well, it seemed appropriate? Maybe some garlic, too?" He considers for a moment, nose twitching. "Msybe you're just tasty, Cryo." Santhia. He seems to share the common habit of foreshortening.

Lily has adult attention! Lily is in conversation. Lily is forced to un-clamp from her clutch-mother's tail to speak. She does so, but keeps her little hands on the ridge just in case the tail needs more biting. "Yesssss," she hisses, then immediately switches into draconic, "Ssassa wasshess thiss one every day and after play. Ussess clearr polissh becausse there isss no ssoft flower colour and red looksss like bleeding. Also thisss one iss five centsss taller. Your sscaless are sshiny too!" <draconic>

Lily taps Shalethiste's armour.

"She likes your armour." Cryo translates incompletely. Lily gives her a look, then watches the Silverguard some more. The whitescale blinks at Shelly and Stjepan, a thought clicking, "Tasty? What? Like a serious recipe? Butter, garlic and oregano and lizard tail? No. This one is not."

Cryo looks down at Aryia's note, "Oh. This one is sorry, that is in Tradespeak, I was using the fancy Sildanyari letters because... I always have. Here." She repeats the spelling of her name with the more straightforward tradespeech letters. Letters that lack a lot of serifs and swirls compared to her first set.

Shalethiste nods, "Perhaps a dash of paprika and tumeric."

Then it's back to Lily, particularly as she's being poked, and she smiles in some amusement, "It's saved me many a time." she assures the kobold, "Though... sometimes, I might perhaps have been better served with heavier armor." She looks up to Ariya as she and Cryo continue their conversation, though the look in the former's eye makes her ask, "Is there something you would like to know?"

Aryia gives a thankful nod towards Cyro as she can now read the script. It always felt so embarrasing to ask for clarification on things so simple, yet she'd feel stupid later if she didn't ask. 
 
With her voice back in hand, she turned a page to preserve Cyrosanthia's writing and scribbled a question down, the barely legible scrawl written in small letters. She presents it. 
 
"Where r you from? If that is o k to ask."

Stjepan grins at Shale, and rumbles something quiet under his breath, then considers, nodding, as it deep in thought. "Pepper. Needs some pepper." He tilts his head, considering. "I bet that's more comfortable than my coat-of-plate, though."

"Leather. Leather and Mithril, you can't go wrong." Cryo says, carefully picking up Lily and holding her in her arms. The pink youngling moves to climb up on her shoulder and the whitescale hisses with a slight shake of her head. A glance in Stjepan's direction, "Well I'll let you know how it turns out."

She ends up looking at Shalethiste after the question is written for her. She can guess the Silverguard's home from her accent, but waits for confirmation. She makes a small shrug, resettling her nascent wings.

Well, that was straightforward, "I'm from Ghaerim'voir." Shelly replies honestly, "Beneath souther Charn." with a wan smile. She shrugs a little, "Mother secreted us to the surface when we were still rather young."

She looks to Stjepan, "It's very flexible, yes, but some of my opponents have hit very, very hard." she replies with a wry quirk at her lips, then, to Cryo's affirmation she nods, "Still, many times, it's let me dance around blows that others may not have avoided."

Stjepan grins broadly at Cryo. "Or you could make it a perfume, and confuse the ever living hells out of your opponents." A sudden laugh to Shaelthiste. "Isn't that the truth." He loosk at her, consideringly, for a moment. "One day, we should dance -- it would be good practice for both of us, I suspect."

Aryia looks to the side, thinking for a moment to herself before giving a relaxed sigh, most of the tension gone at this point. She scribbled more. 
 
"O k. Not a round Aby'ssa. I thynk." 
 
She looks curiously between the others as their conversation goes on. Not wanting to feel left out, she tries to join in despite the caliber of their ongoings. Demons and planes and... flying carpet things. 
 
"I dont thynk I ever wear armor be four." She presents the book page, trying to keep up.

"This one would show you dance moves if she wasn't learning to fly." Cryo informs with confidence, followed by a glance at Stjepan, "this one suspects that formula would go badly with the inevitable fireball. Still, I'll share it with the cook-fire crew."

She adjusts her hold on Lily, and looks down at what Aryia has written. She bites her lip thoughtfully, "Armour only works if you have trained in it. It can be safer to hang back, especially if you're good with ranged weapons. A smart bunch of Guildies will identify their strengths and preferences or... you'll see the wonderous self-ordering in action. At which point, staying back, looking for an opening, is definitely the best."

"I usually have no idea what I'm doing and run at the first thing I see."

Shalethiste frowns thoughtfuly and shakes her head, "Not far from Aby'ssa. Not far enough, at any rate." she answers the other Mul'niessa, "Have you a safe place to rest, Aryia?" Expecting the reply to take a moment or two, she looks to Stjepan and smiles, "I'd like that very much, good to loosen up with friendly sport, no?" this she turns to Cryo as well as she chimes in as well. She turns back to Aryia then and, "I wear my armor, and my blade, to turn aside those of malign intent, that others would not have to."

Stjepan grins at Cryosanthia. "One day." He nods to Shalethiste. "Excellent. Let's do it." He nods to Aryia. "Welcome to the city, then."

Aryia squirms a bit at the memory coming back. More, she writes in her scrawl and shows it. 
 
"Right. I dont remembbr that well." She leaves it at that. But continues on as the conversation goes on around her. The mute shadow elf took a breath to steady herself with her writing, not wanting to smear her already poor penmenship. 
 
"I stayd at a couple of ins here but allys work so far," she presented with a straight face. Can't have standards if one lived in the Inner Rims of Aby'ssa, it being quite clear that she used to live there. 
 
A touch more is added. "I thynk I got used to not having n e."

"Oh, you shouldn't have to do that Aryia," Cryo says anxiously, reading the latest sentences, "There's beds, I think, in the Temple of Althea, and the Fernwood Pub and the TerRaCe are very good. I can give you some coin for there. Alleys aren't safe, and it's too cold at night."

The Jotun is given a small wave as he moves on, and Cryosanthia acknowledges Shalethiste's declaration, "that's a good motive, yes. Better than mine has been. Oh, Cesran is organizing some expeditions to go look at problems on the Ley Lines, and demons might be involved, and he was saying Paladins would be very helpful. If you want to keep an eye out."

Lily is squirming, so Cryo sets her down. The little pink lizard runs off to interfere with a bush. Cryo calls after her, "Lily, we must leave soon. This one needs you to pack up your trap." She repeats it in draconic as well, words that have a lot of growls and hissing to them.

Shalethiste nods, a solemn look in her eye as she wonders what her countrywoman may have endured, specifically. She has a fair idea of the broad range of possibilities, but such talk is best delved with far better acquaintance. Still, she offers a hand, "I'll see if I can arrange something at the Temple of Eluna." She nods with a warm smile to Cryosanthia as she expands on the options, "Indeed, the home of the All Mother is quite generous." She brightens some at the Sith's generosity, though her other news brings a more intent look to her eye, "Just so, thank you for telling me, I'll definately look into that." The tiny pink torpedo loosed toward the distant bush warrants some tracking for some moments, then, "You're most kind to offer, but, would you not need it? I... have no children, but I imagine it calls for a fair amount of coin on it's own. I can see to an inn for the interim, if you like?"

Aryia cycles a breath at the offered hand, her visibly steeling herself before reaching out and limply shaking Shalethiste's hand. It doesn't last long, as she pulls away and shudders. She shakes her head, looking between the two as they pass back and forth the notion of helping Aryia out. 
 
Quietly, she gives a soft whistle to get their attention. Realizing she didn't have her words prepared, she hasitly scribbles away. 
 
"It is o k. I have coin. Can work docks if dont have coin. But Sh-" she doesn't bother even attempting to write the name this time and just ends up pointing to the paladin- "can show me one you thynk is good."

"She does need a lot of toys..." Cryo says, her voice trailing off as she watches Lily run around. She shakes her head slightly, "This one has some day jobs. They don't pay like Adventuring, but it's enough. The People are supportive when we go out to Mictlan."

Which they haven't, for some good reasons for quite a while now, though the Sith'Makar leaves this unsaid. Instead she makes a whistling noise, exhaling hard, "Little Fang, please pack up. Ssasaa needs to go." <draconic>

The second request is heeded, and the pink youngling returns and starts dismantling the spider-silk strands of her trap.

Cryo's head turns at the whistle. She watches the writing, then nods. "The docks are good. Silverguard Shalethiste will be able to help."

"Sssheeyesss." Lily repeats, pulling up more silken strings.

Shalethiste's clasp of hands is gentle, and she relinquishes it as soon as she feels Aryia tense to draw away. She imagines her oaths are small comfort against the life in Aby'ssa she must have endured amongst their people, but time is something of a luxury... perhaps she can help her past that with enough of it. For the nonce, she scans the note and nods again, "Of course, as you wish." It's not charity if it's forced, after all, best to leave it to Aryia's discretion. She nods to Cryosanthia as she explains, "I haven't been there, but I have known Sith, before." with a little smile, she finds some curiosity drawn to Lily disarming her web of cleverness, speculating what may have befell her had Cryo not said anything.

Aryia bobs her head, watching the youngling dismantle the little contraption. There was much that was unsaid about the scarred mul in the group, and even more she couldn't say. But one thing was for certain, she was incredibly grateful for their help. 
 
"Thank you," she mouthed to the two.

{{LineSkulls|300px}}

==Dramatis Personae==

'''Aryia'''
<br>This mul is built lithe and quick, body honed to be its own weapon. She doesn't stand too terribly tall, yet her stature doesn't help with how she squirrels herself away. 
 
Heavy scarring lines every inch of exposed dark colored flesh, that almost a dim grey. Her face shows youth, yet her milky eyes betray a hard life were her self not evidence enough. Moon colored hair comes down to just past her shoulders, though it a damaged and a tangled mess. The entire front of her throat is a mass of scarring, deep wounds from long past. 
 
Attire wise, she doesn't have much. A simple yet tattered long sleeved tunic and pants, coupled with shoddy boots for shoes. She hides away in a brown cloak most of the time.

'''Cesran'''
<br>Cesran is a tall lanky man standing about 6'1". He skin tone is the color of dark mahogany and he has dark hair that has been styled into long dreadlocks that hang down to his shoulders. He has high cheek bones and a strong jawline. Cesran has amber colored eyes. He has a very wiry build with long arms and legs. His fingers are thin and long. Cesran is wearing a long red robe that reaches all the way down to his ankles. Around his middle is a deep blue sash that he has his pouches and melee weapons. He wears a simple silver ring on his index finger. His feet are adorned a pair of sandals that have red and gold intricate bead work in a geometric pattern.

'''Cryosanthia'''
<br>Cryosanthia is an elegant sith-makar woman in the first year of her second century. She radiates confidence, a deep power from within. Her scales are a brilliant white, highlighted by ones which are the palest of glacial blues. These pale scales trace out the scars she used to bear, her hide is restored. She bears two fantastic patterns of these, one on her chest, the other completely covering her back from crest to tailtip. When the light hits right, one sees the dragon within. Her bearing is intense, her motions minimal grace. Two horns sweep back from her brow. Her eyes are like glittering saphhire gems, and when she blinks her eyelids have the glacial blue to them as well. She carries no weapons, and still keeps a tiny bag close to her heart.

Her clothing is various ensembles. At times she wears a layered robe, a mithril swashbuckling outfit, kilted leather, a loincloth, or nothing. The colours inevitably mirror her own. Brilliant white with shimmering blue highlights, piping and whorls. Snowflakes and dragon-eyes are a common motif.

Cryo has been changed, physically and fundamentally by her experiences. She grew into herself under the Queen of Endless Winter, and struggles to reconnect with herself, her body, and friends she hasn't seen in decades. Alien at times even to the sith-makar, her heritage is written on her scales, along with her spells.

'''Shalethiste'''
<br>Given to a sinuous frame of just over five feet of height is this young Mul'Iessan elf. Her skin is bluish black and soft of luster. Coppery hair pours in a full, nearly fluid mass over her shoulders and back as it flows down from her widow's peak, bangs cut arrow straight at her thin, slightly arched brows. Her violet almond eyes are long of lash, and frequently glitter in mirth. Emerging from that shimmering, elbowlength mane are a pair of sharply pointed ears that peak a good inch or two above her eyebrows level, embellished and pierced in artful silver.

Her voice is proud and vibrant, given to the faintest accent, perhaps Myrrish, or Charneth, though undertones of her native dialect wreathe along it like a vine.

Clad at the base in a calf length dress of midnight blue, slit to an acceptable balance of mobility before scandal. Over this is a shirt of fine chainmail, the metal shining the cold blue of the full moon even under daylight. A well tooled belt the color of the midnight sky bears a dagger, a small flanged mace, and several pouches along her right hip, while the left bears a long, jeweled scabbard, possibly a unusually narrow bastard sword, based on it's ornate, gleaming blue crossguard. A narrow buckler, tempered blue-black about a burnished and embossed symbol of the Sky-singer, is itself etched about the boundries with Sildanyari script of the Silver Guard tenets.

'''Stjepan'''
<br>The giantborn is tall -- that is, after all, how they earn their name. He truly is, even for one of his kind. His hair is blonde, and cut short. The part is precise and ruthless. His eye are glacier blue, and are guarded by heavy brows, though his nose is surprisingly pert and dimples mark his cheeks. His smile is broad, cheerful and often deployed. Despite an almost cherubic visage, he cuts a figure of power -- powerful limbs, and a thickly-muscled torso -- that is unmistakable.

He wears blued coat-of-plate embossed with a mountain motif on the breastplate, over striped blue-and-white trousers and low black boots. At his wrists, additional wrappings of leather disappear beneath his vambraces; at his neck, a steel chain disappears under his armour, probably securing some sort of amulet. He carries a huge sword slung at his waist, the grip wrapped in black leather over jute cord. His sword belt is made of thick black leather with a silvered buckle fashioned to look like a snarling lion. A plain grey woollen cloak is worn against the weather. Across his back is a recurved bow and quiver of arrows. He is, in general, armed for war.